After 8

I've been walking more at night.

Partly, it's out of necessity.  It gets dark MIGHTY EARLY on this here East Coast.  Like 5:00 PM early.  Like if I didn't work in the schools I wouldn't see the light of day on weekdays early.  It's pretty egregious, and it means that, by the time I get home and finish practicing, the sky has been tarred and feathered.

Partly, it's that I now live in a neighborhood where walking at night is not majorly idiotic. My previous neighborhood was lovely and rambling, with brick streets and run-down Victorians, but it was also...hopping! Walk down the street and watch the drug bust!  Dodge the deal going down on the corner!  Inform passers by that you are not a prostitute!  I once stepped out the front door with a bag of trash and then immediately stepped back inside, trash be damned, as three cop cars converged on a man across the street.

My new neighborhood is less exciting.  The rustlings in the underbrush are squirrels.  The folks on the corner are discussing remodeling.  The individuals who pee on things are dogs. 


And finally, there's this.  One of my favorite food bloggers mentioned recently how much she loved what she described as the magic hour after it gets dark but before people close their curtains.  I find that I love it, too.  Up with nosiness!   There's such pure pleasure in spying, in prying, in glimpsing, through half-covered windows, life loping along.

Photo: inkity.com